


there's enough spandex here to warp spacetime

by AppleJuiz



Series: the L in Love stands for Loser [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Michelle meets the Avengers, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-19 00:59:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11886573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleJuiz/pseuds/AppleJuiz
Summary: Michelle spends a lot of time around Peter (so she can make fun of him at opportune moments, not because she likes him or anything, don't get any ideas.) And Peter happens to spend a lot of time at the Avengers Complex, so in her quest to relentlessly tease her boyfriend, she ends up meeting quite a few of Earth's mightiest heroes.





	there's enough spandex here to warp spacetime

**Author's Note:**

> So a lot of people wanted to see Michelle meeting the Avengers and somebody else requested an outsider's POV fic so I decided to combine the two and the result is this strange amalgamation of stories that are mostly fluff. I didn't include everyone from the Avenger team because there's so many now, so I mainly stuck with the ones I had inspiration for. Not sure how great this actually is but I had a lot of fun writing it so I hope you enjoy it too.

Ned.

Ned is not at all surprised by Peter and Michelle. It was inevitable. If Peter has a type, it’s confidence and intelligence, and Michelle is the epitome of both of those things.  
  
She’s proven to be the smartest person they know, and he’s pretty sure she has no fears. (They played Truth or Dare once in freshman year for bonding and when asked what she was afraid of, she responded immediately with, “Nuclear warfare and books by Bill O'Reilly.” Ned’s been kinda terrified of her ever since.)

So Peter’s crush was not surprising. Michelle’s crush on him, albeit obvious, was unexpected.

Look, Peter’s his best friend, but he’s a total nerd, a huge flaming dork. He cried during the Han and Leia scene in Return of the Jedi and saves cats from trees and buys his aunt flowers on her birthday.

He’s not sure what he expected Michelle’s type to be, but with her wry humor and cynicism and philosophy books, Peter wouldn’t have been his first guess.

It’s a month after they start dating that Ned pieces it together. They’re a cat-dog kind of relationship, a la Andy and April.

Peter is a dork, caring, easily excitable, intensely loyal, and totally overwhelmed by his affection for Michelle.

And he has a theory that Michelle was a cat in her past life.

She’s a bit of an asshole, shows some affection through mild violence and any other niceties are done quickly and discreetly. She leaves them all sorts of presents, not dead mice, but coffees and Legos and one time a Pokemon card she said she found in the trash but he knows was priced at roughly $75 on Amazon.

She also falls asleep in a lot of weird places.

He tells Peter this theory once, he's not dumb enough to share it with Michelle. He also pretends not to notice that Peter spends the next three days googling, “how to get a cat to like you”.

He's a good friend like that.

Speaking of friends, he starts off a little nervous of being the third wheel. Peter and Michelle are his closest and only friends and now they’re dating. He feels like things are going to change, because with the way they look at each other (and act around each other and talk about each other) he knows this isn’t a fleeting thing.

So he feels like it should be a big deal, that there should be some cosmic shift now that his friends have stopped being dumb and finally figured themselves out.

But nothing happens.

Michelle is always reading and Peter is still sneaking lovelorn glances at her, and they eat lunch together and watch movies at Peter’s apartment and study group together. Literally nothing changes, except Michelle now makes fun of Peter for being sappy about her and they make out sometimes.

He’s a little relieved but he also feels silly for even doubting it. Peter is his best friend and probably always will be his best friend. And Michelle is Michelle. She has a basket bereft of fucks and being in a relationship wasn’t going to change that.

Plus he can finally tease Michelle about something, because she’s embarrassingly in love with Peter in her own unique uncaring way.

“When you two get married, should I be Peter’s best man or your maid of honor?” he asks one day during their shared free period.

“Marriage is an inherently sexist institution,” she replies, but she’s fighting a grin. “But you can buy us a Chia pet when we move in together in 3.5 years.”

 

Happy.

He's not all that fond of Peter Parker. He doesn’t hate him. But the kid is just that, a kid, a hyperactive and overexcited one to begin with, and it makes him regret ever comparing watching Tony to babysitting.

Because now he's actually babysitting.

He’s pretty sure he never signed up for this. Driving a teenager back and forth from the city every few weeks. And he especially didn’t sign up for said teenager inviting his other teenage friends.

Ned is at least quiet, always calling him Mr. Happy and working silently on his computer. Michelle though…

The first time she sees him, he’s waiting outside of their high school by the car (because this is his life now, after school pickup). She gasps audibly and drops her bag to the ground. Peter stops next to her, reaching for her shoulder with a frown.

She tugs out a brown notebook and a pencil. “Inspiration,” she says, flipping open the book, pen scratching across the paper, and Peter laughs for a full minute.

He has no idea what this means, but he does not like it.

From then on every time Michelle sees him she pulls out a paper from somewhere and starts drawing. And every time it makes Peter laugh and. He. Does. Not. Like. It.

“She draws people in crisis,” Peter explains once through wheezes. Michelle doesn’t laugh, just hunches over her page.

He doesn’t get paid enough for this.

 

Matt.

At first Matt doesn't really think too hard about crossing paths with Spider-Man in costume. It's always nice to have another number on his side and for once it's a team up where no one makes fun of his horns (though from what he's heard on the news it's most likely a pot-kettle situation).

He is slightly concerned that Queens’ big shot hero sounds like he's in chapter one of puberty, but the kid knows how to pack a punch, even if he talks too much.

So Matt's night gets a little easier for a few moments.

And then the kid gets thrown into a parked car and ends up with a broken arm and a potential concussion that he's sleeping off on Matt’s couch.

Or rather not sleeping, but asking Matt a million questions about things he does not want to answer. He may be okay with this kid knowing where he lives (he's like a middle schooler, practically harmless), but only Level 7 friends unlock his full backstory. And there's only one of those.

Spider-Man zonks out mid-question at around two in the morning, and Matt should probably get some sleep then. It's been a long night, longer than he anticipated and he has to work tomorrow.

But he has a kid on his couch. He's not sure what he's supposed to do. Should he call his parents? What if he needs food? (Matt’s fridge only has a six pack of beer and a pack of American cheese slices.) What if he needs the bathroom?

So Matt doesn't really sleep, just sits on his bed, stressed, listening to the couch, considering calling Claire or maybe Foggy or anyone who would know what to do with a kid, and vowing to never, ever have children.

So hours later when the sun is up and the city is starting to get noisy, there's a knock on his door and he thinks it's the universe sending him a miracle, someone to tell him that the kid is fine and he can swing along back to Queens and stop being on Matt's couch.

“Five more minutes,” the kid grumbles as Matt passes him, arms flailing.

He doesn't recognize the person on the other side of the door. She's a teenager, tall-ish and looking at a book.

“Uh,” he says.

“Order for pickup,” the girl says, looking up briefly. “Should be under Jones.”

He thinks briefly of Jessica but he's never met this girl before. “What?”

“Michelle Jones,” the girl says, sticking her hand out. “Oh, my hand is like four inches in front of your chest.”

Right. He's not wearing a mask, just his glasses and pajamas. Thank god.

“Who are you?” He asks. And the next second she's somehow slipped under his arm and into the apartment.

“Parker, should I be offended? I'm like the third most important person in your life and you haven't told this complete stranger about me yet,” she says, walking over to his couch. He sighs and closes the apartment door.

“MJ,” the kid says, heart skipping, face flushing. Oh. Okay. That's how it is. “What are you-? Wait, third?”

“Yes, I took the liberty of putting myself above Tony,” she says, sitting down on the couch’s armrest. She pauses. “He better not be above me.”

The kid rubs at his head and sits up. “My head hurts,” he says. “How did you get here?”

“Subway,” she replies, kicking her feet up on his coffee table and cradling her book to her chest.

“But how did you know?”

“I told you I'm psychic,” she replies. Her voice doesn't waver from a deadpan, but her heart pulses a little. Lie. Or a joke rather, but with the way his year is going it could've very well not been. “You never turned off SnapMap. You're asking to be stalked, dweeb.”

Matt clears his throat.

“Peter, you’re being rude. Introduce me to your superfriend,” Michelle says.

“Um, we’re trying to keep up the whole secret identity thing,” Peter says.

“Really? With your mask off? In his apartment?” she asks.

“He didn’t know my name until just now,” he replies slowly.

“I'm not telling you my name,” Matt adds.

The girl shrugs. “I don't care,” she replies. “Grab your stuff. May’s totally gonna ground you and I have nothing better to do today so I'm gonna watch.”

“Oh no,” Peter gasps. “I forgot to text-”

“Yep,” she says. Peter scrambles up off the couch in a slplit second so Matt assumes that he's feeling fine now.

Michelle gets off the couch slowly and walks over to him.

“Thanks for watching his ass,” she says. “Wanna trade emails?”

“What?” He asks.

“I have a few questions about the ethics of superheroing and such,” she says. “Cuz I'm either going to be a lawyer, a politician or a journalist, and having Spider-Boy in my back pocket seems convenient but morally ambiguous. And you're a lawyer so-”

“I'm not a lawyer,” he says, crossing his arms, turning to face her.  
  
“You have case files literally everywhere,” she replies. “Where'd you get your degree, by the way?”

“Columbia,” he replies. “I mean, I'm not-”

“Columbia,” she repeats and nods to herself. “Anyway, email?”

He can't just order these kids to get out of his apartment, right? That would be rude. They're kids.

He sighs and rubs at his eyes.

“Okay, ready,” Peter says, blessedly and walks over to grab Michelle's hand. Her heart jumps, unsteady for the first time she’s been in his apartment.

Oh, okay.

“Thanks again, Mr. Devil,” Peter offers, tugging her towards the door. “You're couch is pretty comfy. Call if you ever need back up.”

“Friend me on Facebook,” Michelle offers flatly and they're out, door closing behind them.

Matt feels around eight years of tension drop off his shoulders and he leans back against the wall in his kitchen.

He can hear the two of them on the stairs, heartbeats getting further away.

“-didn't even get to ask about Jessica Jones?” she grumbles.

“You were totally annoying him,” he replies.

“Excuse yourself.”

“He thought I was cool before you showed up.”

“No one has ever thought you are cool, Parker. Besides I was networking. You never know when you might need a good lawyer.”

“I don't need a lawyer. I've got you.”

“Gross.”

They're on the first floor and almost out the door. He pushes off the wall and makes his way around the room, double checking to make sure there isn't anything left behind, any reason for them to come back up.

“Also it's like a three-way tie for first as far as favorite person goes,” Peter says.

“Goddammit,” Matt mutters to himself. Because then they're making out in the stairway of his apartment building.

Teenagers. Of all the things that have happened to him. Teenagers.

He staggers over to his fridge and grabs one of the beers for his crippling headache. Maybe this is the sign to hang up the mask for good.

Foggy’s gonna laugh at him.

 

Sam.

“When did we start offering field trips here?” he says, when he sees not one, but three mid-size humans in the kitchen of the Avengers Complex.

“Hi, Sam, you wanna crepe?” Peter asked through a mouthful of food. Disgusting.

“Is that the bird dude?” the other boy asks in a whisper that’s not quiet enough.

Bird dude? He’s gonna have a long conversation with Tony about this. He opens the fridge, barely dodging the third child, a girl with wild hair and a loose-fitting Star Wars t-shirt brandishing a frying pan.

“Michelle, it’s okay if you can’t flip-” Peter says, inhaling the crepe on his plate.

“I’m gonna flip one,” the girl insists flatly. “Doubt me again and I’ll dump you.”

Oh. Oh, this situation became amazingly worth it. He turns around and glances at Peter, raises an eyebrow. The squirt’s eyes widen when he realizes what Sam now realizes.

“You’re going to make even more of a mess,” the other boy says. “Don’t get us kicked out.”

“Shut it before I flip you,” the girl continues and pours some batter onto the pan.

“What does that mean?” The boy asks.

“Bite me,” she replies.

“Hey, pipsqueak, you gonna introduce me to your friends?” Sam asks, leaning against the counter with his bottle of orange juice.

Peter stares at him, shakes his head once.

“Michelle Jones, future Harvard graduate,” the girl says, glaring at the pan. “Nerd #1 is Ned. You’ve meet Nerd #2.” Oh yeah, he’s gonna stick around to see how this plays out.

“Is a good thing or a bad thing that I’m Nerd #2?” Peter asks, glancing at Michelle quickly before turning to pin Sam with a stare again.

“I don't know, what do you think?” she asks flatly. “So Sam, you opposed the first draft of the Sokovia Accords and became an international fugitive. Comments?”

  
“MJ,” Peter says.

“You need a scoop for your school newspaper?” Sam asks.

“A quote for my Politics and Media essay,” she corrects. “Alright, everybody shut up.” She grabs the pan handle with both hands and jerks it up. The crepe flops over itself, crashing into the pan in a mess of soupy batter. “Goddamn!”

“You know we have robots-” Peter offers.

“Are you gonna date a robot, Parker?” she asks.

“Well,” Ned says. “With modern advances in robotics and AI, most likely.”

Something wet lands on the back of Sam’s neck and he jumps a foot in the air, barely biting back a swear because there are children present.

Peter snorts and nearly chokes on his dumb crepe. He looks up and sure enough the kitchen ceiling is dotted with crepe batter.

Yeah, he’s gonna have a long talk with Tony about three children free-roaming around their high-tech facilities.

  
“Birdman, crepe or not to crepe?” Michelle asks him, scrapping a pile of crepe-like substance onto a paper plate.

“Not for anything in the world,” he replies and talks a small step back, just in case. “Don’t you infants have homework?”

“No,” Peter protests.

“We finished it,” Ned says over him.

“So I heard you got your ass handed to you by Spider-Dweeb the first time you two met,” Michelle says, raising an eyebrow. She has a fork now with her crepe pile. “Get good, man. He’s like twelve.”

“MJ,” Peter whines. She takes a bite of her crepe, entirely uncaring.

“Get good?” he echoes.

She shrugs. “My professional opinion.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam says slowly. Peter looks all too pleased now, grinning and leaning back in his seat. Sam grabs another water bottle from the fridge and makes his way to leave.

“Hey Wilson,” Michelle says, walking after him, phone in hand.

“Don't call me that.”

“I hear you like to make fun of my boyfriend.”

He turns back around to face her, raising an eyebrow. He doesn't make fun of Parker. He's a grown ass man and he's, as she said, like twelve. He's a little concerned that there's a kid on the battlefield, but Peter’s proven himself to be a strong, capable fighter.

He doesn't make fun. He shows his love through being an asshole. At least that's what Steve’s said.

He's about to jump to his own defense but Michelle is not done talking.

“If you give me a quote for this essay, I can give you some ammunition,” she says. “I have a list of every embarrassing thing Peter has done in his entire life.”

“You what?” Peter squeaks.

Oh, this is beautiful. He can work with this.

“September 14, 2015. 12:13 pm,” she says, eyes on her phone. “Peter snorts milk out of his nose at one of Ned’s terrible puns.”

“Michelle,” Peter says.

“What pun?” Ned asks.

“Cat pile,” Michelle replies.

“Cat what?” Sam asks.

“Oh,” Ned says. “Pile of cats. Meow-ntain.”

“February 16th, 2014. 2:37 pm,” she says.

“Michelle,” Peter says again. His face is bright red and his voice keeps getting more high-pitched.

“Peter tries to lean his hand on a lab table. Misses, hits his head on the table, taken to the nurse, potential minor concussion.”

“Wait, what?” Peter asks. “I don't remember that.”

“Concussion,” Michelle decides and updates it on her phone.

“This is the best day of my life,” Sam decides.

“So do you have a gmail, Sam? Because I can share it with you on docs if-”

“Sam has somewhere to be,” Peter says loudly, standing up from the counter. “Don't you?”

“No, actually my schedule just cleared up,” he decides, raising an eyebrow. “What did you say your email was?”

“Nice to see you again, Sam,” Peter continues and crowds him out toward the hallway. “We should catch up. Sometime later. Bye.”

He concedes, lets Peter herd him out of the room, but shoots a look over at Michelle who nods once curtly.

Sure enough he checks his inbox a few hours later and she’s shared the file with him. It’s 37 pages of pure gold so he gets Steve to make a brief statement about his opposition to the Accords.

He doesn’t read the whole thing because he’s not that dedicated to annoying the kid, but he skims it for material every now and again.

And when he finds Peter and Michelle curled up on a common room couch a few weeks later, him snoring and her drooling, while the History channel plays a documentary about aliens in the background, he adds it to the list.

It’s her fault for giving him editing privileges.

 

Flash.

He says one thing.

Because it’s weird. One day there's nothing and the next Peter and Michelle are making out in the hallways and what, he’s supposed to not say anything about it.

Michelle is a weirdo, a self-appointed outcast, and all of a sudden she's hanging out with Peter Parker and then she's dating him. He doesn't get it.

He says one thing: “Figures Parker would end up dating the one person at this school more of a freak than he is.”

And he gets a look from Parker that's murderous. Like it has him worried about his safety. Like he should avoid walking alone for the next month.  
  
“Figures third wave feminism ensured that no girl has low enough standards to date you, Thompson,” Michelle says, in a dry scathing tone. Everybody at the table is sitting back in their seats and Peter is still glaring at him, scooting his chair closer to Michelle’s. “Now are we finishing this PowerPoint?”

He doesn't say anything else about it.

 

Natasha.

There’s an accident. It’s not even a big deal in the end. They’re fighting in some city, nothing world-threatening, but enough to draw out a few Avengers.

And it’s going fine, but then Peter gets hit by some high tech weapon and collapses in a heap. His comm goes dead and there’s a moment where everybody exchanges a horrified look.

He’s so young and she thinks for a moment how gutting it must be, their first time seeing a kid drop like that. How it’s never gotten easier and it probably never will.

But he’s fine. His comm was just shorted out by the blast. He’s unconscious and has a few broken ribs, but he’s alive and fine, just knocked out.

They bring him back to the complex when the battle is over, straight to the med bay where their whole little team hovers outside for a few minutes.

It’s uncomfortable to see Peter so quiet. He can be annoying at times, rapid-fire questions and jokes, but at this point it’s practically white noise. The absence of it is disheartening, unsettling.

About an hour later, the woman she’s almost positive is Peter’s mother shows up. She marches sternly into the medbay to check him over, ruffle his hair and drop off a change of clothes before she marches back out of the room to yell at Tony.

Mrs. Parker is such a presence that nobody notices Michelle Jones. But when Natasha turns back around, there she is, lounging in a chair by Peter’s bedside.

Everybody else has dispersed, off to follow Mrs. Parker or get some sleep because it’s been a long day. She’s the only one left out here and she remembers her promise, doesn’t make them lightly.

She steps into the room, walks over to the chair carefully. She’s not very good at comfort, so she takes a stealing breath.

“Hey,” she says, patting Michelle’s shoulder. “He’s gonna be alright.”

“He’d better,” Michelle grumbles. “We have a group project due tomorrow.”

Alright, perfect, she’s fine.

  
“Cool,” Natasha says and takes her hand back. She glances briefly at Peter. He looks smaller than usual asleep.

“What a flake,” Michelle sighs, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “I totally knew this was gonna happen when he texted me.”

“He helped save a lot of lives,” she offers, shrugging. That’s usually what people like to hear. Michelle rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” she says dryly. “But he better wake up soon because I told him I wasn’t gonna cover for him so if I do now he’s gonna think I actually care.”

“How tragic,” she says. Michelle nods, takes Peter’s hand and glares at him. This is where she should stop getting involved, but there's something about these kids. “He should wake up within the hour, but if he doesn't you could say someone else in your group pitched in.”

“Hmmm, that's genius,” Michelle decides.

“I try,” she replies.

“Hey, is the Black Panther here?” she asks, leaning back into her seat.

“No, still in Wakanda.”

  
“Dammit, why am I here?”

Yeah, Michelle is fine.

 

Bucky.

He’s not necessarily annoyed when he finds a girl in his usual chair in the library. It’s not that big of an inconvenience all things considered, even though it messes up his routine for the day.

He’s never seen her before but he’s learned to stop asking. Asking means he has to remember people’s names and there are too many of those. He’ll let Steve worry about it. He sits down in a chair nearby and picks up a book.

He notices her, catalogues her because his brain can’t turn that off. She strikes him as a civilian, with her ceramic mug of tea and her brown cardigan. She’s speeding through a large novel with small print and her posture is relaxed unlike everybody else here.

She seems like a civilian, but he’s seen a lot of weird shit this side of the 21st century so he tries to focus on his book and eventually she leaves the library.

Every few weeks or so, she pops up again. Always in his seat. Memorable if only for the minute change to his day. She has a different book and a different mug every time.

He doesn’t know who she is and he doesn’t really care, just notices when she leaves and debates moving to his now open seat.

She notices him too, because one day when she’s at his seat and he goes to the one nearby there’s a book already there.

He examines it careful because as relatively harmless as the girl seems, he’s seen a lot of weird shit.

It’s just a book. An old sci-fi book that he dimly remembers looking at in a bookstore in Brooklyn that’s probably a scarf shop now. He picks it up and glances over at her before he starts reading.

She’s not looking at him. But she’s been watching him, enough to identify what sort of book he'd be interested in reading, and he hasn’t noticed. She’s good.

It’s a good book, too, and he reads it fast. The next few times she’s in the library there’s a recommendation on his chair.

He likes most of them. He still doesn’t talk to her because he doesn’t care. And he’s still a little annoyed that she’s stealing his seat all the time.

But whoever she is, she has good taste in science fiction so arguably one of the better people he’s not-met.

He sees her once outside of the library and it's weird.

He walks into one of the million gyms around this place and the Spider Kid is there. (Who knows what his actual name is? He's had maybe two conversations with him, both under duress. It’s a miracle he recognizes the kid’s face.)

He’s on the floor mat, doing push ups and library girl is on top of him, back to back, reading her book while they shift up and down.

And look, Bucky’s brain has had a rough go so it takes him a moment to process what he’s seeing. It’s a whole bucket of weird that he’s not prepared for.

Seeing library girl not in the library is strange enough as it is without having to figure out what they’re doing. He takes his gym bag and leaves quietly. He’s had two conversations with Spider-Man and none with library girl and that’s already more than enough.

(However he beats her to the library and takes his chair back, leaving his own recommendation for her on the other seat.)

 

May.

It's been a rough few years, and she's spent most of it worrying about Peter.

At first for normal reasons, mourning his parents, getting bullied at school, not having many friends. (Ned is an angel, but life can be rough if you only have one person.)

So on a perfectly normal level she's grateful for Michelle. She's a good friend. She's smart and confident in a way May wishes she had been at her age. She's good for Peter, keeps him level, sees the good in him but calls him out on his flaws.

And then on the level of crazy, of costumes and superpowers and all this other worry that is not normal (that she can't read about on parenting blogs or ask anyone else about), Michelle is practically a godsend. Not even for Peter, but for her.

When she's freaking out about Peter swinging around the city, putting himself in danger every night, Michelle is calm and usually in their apartment.

On the days when she's scared and wants to pull out, wants to shut this madness down, Michelle is a voice of reason.

“You raised him to be a good person,” she says, and her voice may be expressionless but there's a deep-seated love in her eyes. “And that's what he's trying to do, so telling him to stop helping people is like sending mixed messages, and his brain isn't big enough to deal with that.”

“Peter's a good person,” she’ll say, every time, like it's the loftiest praise she could bestow. “He's dumb enough to think he can save the world and smart enough to actually pull it off.”

It's miraculous that she's a sophomore in high school and already more mature that May is, able to put things in perspective and rationalize the irrational.

It's also nice to have another girl around the apartment.

She invites her to a nail salon once because she has a coupon (and Peter chokes on his Pad Thai when she says yes. “I gotta keep him on his toes,” she explains later.)

Michelle picks out a clear nail polish and gets a weird look from the lady at the salon.

“I appreciate the irony of it,” she says with a shrug. And they have a relaxing day, talking about normal things, Michelle's classes and extracurriculars and May’s job.

And it settles May’s panic a little, how certain Michelle is about the future. How she talks about college and Peter at MIT and her across the river at Harvard.

“And Ned nearby,” she adds, shrugging.

“Where is he applying?” May asks.

“Who knows, but there’s a metric shitton of colleges in Boston so he’ll probably end up with us there,” she replies.

She starts talking about her internship applications and volunteer work and it’s more soothing that their massage chairs.

Here she’s been worrying, about Peter’s grades and his health and when something is going to go wrong and she’s going to lose the last bit of family that she has, but right now she doesn’t have to be.  
Peter’s going to be fine, by the sheer force of Michelle’s will as she drags him into this future she’s planning.

 

Steve.

He’s pretty fond of Peter now that they’re not on opposite sides of a battlefield.

Bucky and Sam say it’s probably because Peter reminds him of himself, but that’s not true, they’re so different, Peter is from Queens, the second worst borough, they’re nothing alike, stop laughing Sam.

Either way, Peter has a good head on his shoulders and a good heart and he picks up things quickly when they’re training.

He’s young, and he and Tony often butt heads about whether or not he should be allowed on the field. (There are things in their world that no kid should have to see. That Steve wishes he didn’t have to see.) But ultimately he trusts Peter and his judgement to do the right thing.

That said, he is suspicious though about the whispering outside his bedroom.

“You can’t just burst into his room,” Peter hisses.

“This is important,” says another voice, another kid. “The children of America deserve answers.”

“What if he’s sleeping?”

“Justice waits for no one, Parker.”

“You can’t ask him-”

“We all need to be held accountable for our words and actions and what we make the informed decision to support.”

“It was like a million years ago. He’s probably busy.”

“I thought he was sleeping?”

“Michelle, you can’t just-” There’s a thump, a knock, and the door flies open. “MJ!”

Oh, right. Michelle. He’s seen her before, hanging around the complex. He passed by the infirmary that time Peter was injured, anger and guilt and his last argument with Tony settling on his chest. She was in the room reading, her feet kicked up on the bed, next to his shoulder.

He didn’t want to intrude, but he did tell some robot or another to make sure she had refills for her water and an extra blanket and pillow. (He knows a thing or two about bedside vigils and their meager comforts.)

“Good afternoon, Mr. America,” she says now, squinting at him, scowling.

“Steve,” he says, turning off his TV.

“Not Mr. Rogers,” Peter adds, holding onto his girlfriend’s hand, smiling sheepishly. “Uh, really sorry about this. You totally don’t have to say anything. In fact you can kick us out right now, I was just telling Michelle that you’re probably really busy and-”

“The Captain America Fitness Program,” Michelle says, steel in her eyes and her voice. “What were you told about it?”

“The what?” he says, frowning.

“Just a dumb phys ed thing. You probably don’t even remember,” Peter says, pulling on Michelle’s arm. “We can go now.”

He’s pretty sure he suppressed the memories of that entire day, down with all the other brutal hours of propaganda filming.

“What were you told about it?” Michelle repeats.

“Um, not much,” he replies.

“So you were not informed that you were endorsing the FitnessGram Pacer test?” she asks.

“The what?” he asks. Peter shudders and shakes his head.

“Pacer test? Worst sounds you’ve ever heard, government sponsored child torture?” she clarifies.

“Um, no,” he says slowly. He’s pretty sure even in his suppressed memories, he would remember something like that.

“Good,” she says, nodding to herself, scowling a little less. “In that case, you have my continued support, Mr. Amercia.”

  
“Steve,” he corrects. She’s already halfway out the door, Peter in tow.

“Thank you for your time,” Michelle says.

“Sorry,” Peter calls.

“Let’s call Ned and tell him I was right,” she says, voice faint in the hall, even though they closed the door.

“It’s two in the morning,” Peter replies and their footsteps and conversation fades away.

He googles the Pacer test a few minutes later when the curiosity gets the best of him, and regrets it for the next month and a half.

(He ends up emailing with Michelle about the ethics of informed support and she sends him a PowerPoint from her philosophy class.)

 

Wanda.

Peter reminds her so much of her brother that it hurts to watch him sometimes. He’s full of the same bouncing energy everytime she sees him, around the complex, out on the field.

He’s not afraid of her, just asks a million and one questions about what she can do and shows off his own tricks. He seems to think she’s really cool, always hovering around her when they cross paths in the complex, asking questions or answering hers about his school and his friends.

It’s a nice break sometimes. Like having a friend.

At the very least it's one other person who's not scared of her. Although it must be a little easier for him, having his own powers and knowing what it's like.

She's worried about Michelle.

Peter texts her one Saturday to tell her that he's at the complex and free to train and when she walks into the gym, she automatically identifies the girl with the book as Peter's girlfriend.

She's heard a million stories from every time she and Peter have talked. It makes her smile, how absolutely enamoured Peter is with her. A softer grin than his usual excited one.

“Michelle, this is Wanda,” Peter announces with a flourish from where he's hanging from the ceiling.

Michelle flips him off, waves at Wanda, and pushes her bangs back, all without taking her eyes off her book.

Peter grins sheepishly, a fond, happy look, helpless in his adoration.

Michelle stays in her corner of the room, wrapped up in her book while she and Peter train. It mostly consists of trying all the crazy things Peter thinks up. Can you throw me across the room while I do a backflip? Or try to float that block to me while I'm standing on the ceiling.

She holds back a little today, keeping this careful and safe. Michelle doesn't look like she's paying attention, but Wanda doesn't want to scare her either way. Peter is one thing but Michelle is just a civilian, one she wants to impress because she seems remarkable cool, or at least Peter makes her out to be.

When they take a break, Peter runs off to go get them water, and she's left alone with Michelle and her book in the room. She sits down a few feet away from her against the wall and tries to think of something normal to say.

“You don't have to hold back,” Michelle says, cutting to the chase. “Peter's told me all the cool shit you can do. Plus I’m not paying attention.”

Wanda glances over at her, meets her gaze for a moment.

“People are usually scared of the things I can do,” she says.

“Well, people are usually scared of girls with incredible power,” Michelle replies, shrugging.

She grins. Michelle talks about it so simply, like it's not a big deal.

“It's a lot of power,” she says.

“The Hulk could level a city block with a sneeze,” she continues. “But nobody started complaining until you popped up. Double standard.”

“You think?” Wanda asks.

Michelle shrugs. “I try not to think, I usually just know things.”

Wanda smiles to herself, settles a little more against the wall.

“With that in mind, this is gonna sound kinda terrible now, but could you use your world-destroying powers to help me prank Peter?” Michelle asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Absolutely.”

 

Peter.

Debriefings are the worst.

He makes a mental note to bring it up at the next debriefing as he trudges to his room. (His room at the Avengers Complex, not home where he'd rather be. It's the middle of the night and everybody is exhausted and he has permission from May to spend the night.)

He's already changed into his set of back up clothes and is ready to crash immediately into bed. Only…

“MJ?” he says slowly. There’s a lump on his bed, a Michelle-shaped lump, and he’s really tired but he’s pretty sure Michelle is somehow in his bed.

“I was asleep, fucker,” she grunts, head poking out of the tangle of sheets, frizzy hair and bleary eyes and she’s maybe the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Why did you turn on the lights?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks. Her showing up at his apartment is one thing. He’s pretty sure they’re an hour’s drive away from the city.

“Sleeping,” she says. “Pay attention.”

He rubs at his eyes and staggers over to the bed, flops down on top of the covers.

“Wanda invited me over to play Mario Kart,” she explains. He kicks his shoes off, and she tugs him into the mountain of blankets.

“You played Mario Kart without me?” he asks, blinking when he’s suddenly face to face with her.

“Duh, you were off saving the world and bullshit,” she replies. “Wanda’s still on that Mario learning curve so she needed someone to put Clint in his place.”

“Oh, right,” he says because he’s so tired that seems to make sense. He wraps his arms around her waist and buries his face in the crook of her neck. “When did you get Wanda’s number?”

“Ages ago,” she says, lips brushing against his temple. “I have everybody’s number.”

“Really?”

“Sorry to break it to you, loser, but the Avengers think I’m cooler than you,” she says.

It’s the last thing he hears before he completely passes out, and he finds that he can’t even blame them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! If you enjoyed this nonsense please let me know, I love getting feedback. I don't know how far I'm going to take this series but I do have some other one shot and au ideas I'll hopefully get around to, but if you want to see more from this series specifically let me know. As always you can send me prompts on tumblr, @applejuiz


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